


Year's Turn

by Phlyarologist



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: M/M, Male My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 11:23:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20705186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phlyarologist/pseuds/Phlyarologist
Summary: The more things change...





	Year's Turn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalloway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalloway/gifts).

> Assumes the ending where Robin goes down with Grima, and assumes it took a good while for Chrom to find him again.

The wind sent green-gold waves rippling through the fields outside Ylisstol. Two men stood under a tree.

“We keep coming back here, don't we?” said one, who in loftier circles might have been recognized as the Exalt. And it wasn't even that he disguised it – the Brand was right there on his shoulder – but in present company he was as likely to get his head dunked in the nearby stream as to have anyone bow to him.

Which was not to say either was impossible.

“Against every warning Frederick or I could give you, yes,” said the Royal Tactician, more in amusement than any real displeasure. But there was still worry. The worry was always there. How could it not be, when it had an object like Chrom? Robin had only gotten his office three months ago, and had only been back in Ylisse three months and two days, but they fell into these old rhythms at once.“I wonder what suspicious characters you'll pick up out of the mud today.”

Chrom grinned. “Maybe you.”

Robin rolled his eyes, but smiled back. “As if you'd be that lucky a third time. I don't make a habit of it.”

“What if you tripped?”

“Then I'd expect you to catch me before I hit the ground. No picking up required.” He raised an eyebrow. “I'm sure no son of House Ylisse can fail in that courtesy. Even if I am an enemy general.”

“Peace, Robin. We were never enemies.”

Robin's smile wavered, for just a moment. The question hung unspoken: Weren't we? But Chrom's hand slid into his.

He looked out toward the field again, squinting in the late morning light. From over the rise came the sounds of boisterous conversation, and from time to time the hollow smacking of wooden practice weapons. At last he said, “That's the talk of someone who wants to lose.”

“Not at all. I think you'll be surprised how much I've learned.”

“I've already been surprised. You're becoming a fine king.”

“Well, I'm glad you think so. But” - he laughed, a little hollowly - “I always thought I was a better Shepherd.”

Robin squeezed his hand in return. “There's some overlap in the skill sets, you know.”

“Some,” Chrom admitted. “But – I try to do what Emm would want. And can you see her out here?”

“Having a picnic with friends? I didn't know her as you did. But I like to think so. If saving the world and rehabilitating a kingdom doesn't entitle you to run around being silly on occasion, I suppose nothing would.”

“Sorry. I don't mean to mope. We _are_ here to run around, after all.” He nodded up the hill. “Maybe we should get started.”

“Agreed. If we're much later, Sully might lose patience and start splitting heads.” And yet they dawdled, their fingers still linked, walking through the tall grass in no particular rush. It was a fine clear morning, and they had escaped the capitol. They were going to go start a fight, with no real stakes, and every one of their old companions who'd been able to return. It was a moment heavy with possibility, and worth savoring.

The sounds of cheerful argument, and sparring, and someone trying to get into the baked goods ahead of schedule, grew louder. This offensive had been conducted on two fronts. To some, Robin had written that they were honoring the anniversary of Chrom's accession to the throne. To the rest, Chrom had promised a mock battle. Even then, some faces were missing. Some had urgent business elsewhere, which was refreshing in one sense. After so long battling existential threats, it was bittersweet to see your friends scattered back to their respective lives, and know that if you ever took such precedence again, it meant some horrible disaster. But all the original Shepherds were here, and a small contingent from Valm, and all those children of the dark future they'd managed to get letters to.

And here they all were, on a mowed stretch of grass, ready for a fight and a feast. There was no outcry when the king strolled into their midst, and no real interruption in the clamor. Just friendly greetings and congratulations and embraces for him and Robin both, until the word got to everyone that their commanders had arrived.

Maribelle stepped up onto a stump and announced exactly how the teams would be assigned; she would oversee the drawing as an impartial judge. She rattled off victory and defeat conditions. It felt so much like their old drills that Chrom could have recited all the formalities with her from memory. But that had been before Robin's time, so he listened closely, although they'd already hammered out these rules in detail between them, settled and shaken on weeks before. 

If you encounter something old in a new context, he'd told Chrom once, you may see new angles. It always helps to look again.

So Chrom looked again. His friends were here, and the sun was bright. The world hadn't ended. Grima was gone, and Robin – somehow – hadn't gone with him. And today they were not kings or dragons or the children of kings or dragons, or heroes or villains. They were people, whom chance had brought together once and choice kept bringing back. How strange that after a year's turning, with everything else that had changed beyond this hillside, with all the work there was left to do in the capitol and abroad – in this moment nothing felt different in any way that mattered.

They were, after all, gathered here to wallop each other with blunt implements. Just like old times.

Maribelle was wrapping up her explanation. “Will our opposing commanders please advance to begin drawing names?”

“Guess I need to drop this now,” said Chrom in an undertone, glancing at Robin's hand still in his.

“I don't know,” Robin said slyly. “It opens some interesting tactical avenues. Granted, I can't think of a real-world application where one would be shackled to the enemy mastermind -”

“Well, don't try to cook one up now. If we only rout you because you're distracted, I'll know. And it'd be disappointing not to fight you at your best.”

They shook hands. They drew names by turns from an old helmet, and one by one the army partitioned itself. Robin looked over his new force with approbation, and called them a short distance away to discuss. Chrom, holding aloft a practice sword, spoke the words he didn't often get to these days: “Shepherds, to me!”


End file.
